


Bodies Fashioned of Dirt and Dust

by isnt_it_pretty



Series: All We've Lost in the Fight to Protect it [1]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27691694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isnt_it_pretty/pseuds/isnt_it_pretty
Summary: Thom survived the coronation day attack, but nothing comes without a cost.Arram is just worried for his friend.
Relationships: Numair Salmalín/Thom of Trebond
Series: All We've Lost in the Fight to Protect it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025067
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Bodies Fashioned of Dirt and Dust

**Author's Note:**

> So a few things just for the background of this fic.  
> Thom survived the coronation day attack, however enough people called for his execution that Jon and Myles gave Thom the choice. He choice go to trial, or he could leave. He decided to leave, and with Myles' help went to Carthak. Alanna doesn't know where he went.  
> This happens about a year and a half after Jon's coronation.
> 
> A special thank you to my beta reader, Soph.  
> Give me a follow [ Tumblr! ](https://isnt-it-pretty.tumblr.com/) or hit me up on discord at Canadeath#1368

He knocked on the oaken door, arms full of books at the request of Lindhall.

Arram would have come anyway. He could hardly focus on his work with how much of his mind was occupied with thoughts of _ another _ Master. One who was most definitely not a teacher of his, but with whom he found himself spending more and more time.

His relationship with Master Thom was... complicated, to say the least. It had started with needing a rare book from the library, only to find it had been checked out already. Lindhall had told him that Thom had his own copy, and that he should ask to borrow it directly, despite the fact that Thom rarely left his rooms and was apparently prickly at the best of times. Regardless, Arram needed the book, and so reluctantly he had gone to Thom's room.

He was younger than Arram thought he'd be, was his first thought upon meeting the master. Everybody else was in their thirties, but Thom was just barely into his early twenties. His hair was long and lank, a bright fiery red; but his eyes were the most captivating he’d ever seen. A bright violet. Arram had frozen, and probably gone bright red at the sight, before Thom snapped and asked what he wanted.

The fact Arram managed to stick around long enough to not only get the book but also answer Thom's questions about his studies was practically a miracle. In the end it was worth it. Thom managed to recommend a few other books that Arram might find interesting on the topic - which he did.

After a couple weeks, Arram had gone back to return the book, and Thom invited him in for tea. He said he was curious about how Arram's research was coming along. 

It wasn't that Arram didn't notice Thom’s peculiarities, but rather he just accepted it as being, well, Thom. For a start, the man was fickle about time. They would agree to meet, only for Arram to receive a missive that something had come up and Thom was unavailable. Work of a Master, Arram assumed. The fact Thom often forwent eating or worked near exclusively in his rooms - something no other Master of the university did - was a bit harder to explain. When questioned, Thom had waved him off, claiming, "I'm prone to migraines," which made enough sense for Arram to accept the answer.

The previous weekend though, Arram had gone to Thom's rooms as normal. It was easier to work there sometimes, with Ozorne as... intense as he'd become in recent years. Thom didn't teach, only researched, so people rarely bothered him. When he had knocked on the door, however, there was no response. Logic had said to leave and come back later, but something prickling in the back of Arram's mind told him not to. When he tried the door - and found it unlocked - the fact something must have been wrong was confirmed. Thom always locked his door when he left, and always answered it when he was there.

Inside, the room was in its usual disarray, papers and books strewn across every available surface. He found Thom collapsed on the floor only a moment later.

Fever had burned across his skin when Arram rushed to his side, and in his delirious state, Thom hadn't even recognized Arram.

The healer he'd called for had promptly kicked him out.

And so he'd spent the last five days in a relatively useless state, worried sick for his friend. When he asked Lindhall if he'd heard anything, Arram had been given an indecipherable look before being told that Thom had taken ill, and actually would Arram please return these books to him?

At least it gave him a plausible reason to be there, Arram thought as he waited by the door. He'd told the healer that he'd been there to ask Thom a question, but it'd be harder to excuse a second time around.

Part of him wondered if Lindhall had done that on purpose. It wasn't as if he and Thom were breaking any rules. Arram was a few months away from seventeen yet, but Thom was only nearing twenty-two.  _ And _ Thom wasn't one of his professors. There was nothing in any rules that said they couldn't be friends. Arram had  _ checked _ .

Suddenly, the door clicked and opened slowly. It was a trick Thom often used when he couldn't be bothered to open the door, one of the few  weaker spells he could perform. His gift was mostly shaped toward large spells, often ritualistic in nature. The kind of magic that took months of preparation, specific reagents, and must be performed on days of power. But his gift was still powerful. Enough so that he could have been a Black Robe, had Thom the desire to obtain that rank. So far he had shown no interest in it.

The room beyond the door was dark, the drapes drawn to keep out the light. Only a single dim candle seemed to be burning just within the next room of the suite, where Arram knew several couches were. Thom often worked from there, but it was odd for the rooms to be so dimly lit.

"Thom?" he called softly, stepping into the room and letting the darkness envelop him. The door clicked shut behind him.

"Arram?" Thom called, his voice quiet and weak from the room with the candle. Had the door been closed, Arram wasn't sure he'd have heard him at all.

Carefully, Arram padded his way across the chaotic room, which held a table stacked full of Thom's work, and into the one beyond. When lit well enough to see, this room was usually a bit tidier  - if only from necessity.

He could see Thom's form in the candle light. Thin robes made of what looked like cotton hung off Thom, sweat causing them to cling to his body. He was laying on the chaise longue, a thin blanket hiding his legs while a too pale arm was resting over his eyes. From what Arram could see of his hair, it was a mess, sweat-soaked and curled in odd places. There was a half-drunk cup of tea sitting on a nearby table. It was by far the most unflattering position Arram had ever seen him in.

"Yeah," he whispered, throat dry. "Um. Lindhall asked me to bring you some books."

Thom didn't even look at him. Just waved the hand not covering his eyes in the direction of a plush chair. "Just put them over there."

Arram did as he was told, piling them on even as he knew they'd be sitting there for a month and a half before being eventually put away. Or maybe lent out again.

He should leave, Arram knew. Thom was clearly still unwell, even if he seemed more aware than he had been previously. Still, he hesitated.

"Are you alright, Thom?" He asked. It was a stupid question, but still somehow Arram didn't anticipate the humourless, watery laugh that escaped his friend.

Thom moved his arm from his eyes, and even in the darkness Arram could tell they were red and bloodshot. It was hard to tell if he had been crying, or was simply exhausted. Maybe both.

"No," Thom answered, a wry smile appearing on his lips that never reached those fever-bright eyes. "No, I don't believe I am."

Perhaps Arram just wasn't expecting him to admit it so easily.

"The healer said a student found me," Thom went on to say. "I take it that was you?"

At Arram's nod, Thom went on. "I must apologize. I never intended to allow you to see me in such a state. Even in one such as this." There was a tone of self-deprecation on the words, and Arram found he was rather unfond of hearing it in Thom's voice.

The question of what was wrong sat at the edge of Arram's tongue, but he held off. Instead, he smiled. "I don't mind. Really. I'm just sorry you're feeling so unwell." He was quiet for a moment. "Is there anything I can do to help?" If Thom asked him to leave, he would, but Arram was loath to leave his friend alone in such a sorry state.

Thom blinked a few times, as if blindsided by the question. Had Arram really come across as so heartless that he wouldn't want to help?

Finally, Thom's eyes found the cooled cup half full of tea.

"More tea?" He asked. His voice was weak and hesitant, betraying how terrible he truly felt. "There's a teapot in the kitchenette. It just needs to be heated."

Arram smiled. "Of course. Just rest, I'll be right back." He plucked the tea cup from the table on his way past, and found his way to the small kitchenette. He was lucky that he'd been there so many times when it was well lit. It made it much easier to find his way around.

With the teapot on the stove  Arram found himself looking around. There were what looked like several rags left in the sink, along with a few vials that likely held potions. On the counter near the tea pot was a bag of herbs. Arram picked it up, but if any words were written on it, it was too dim to read. Opening the paper package, he smelled it. Tea, made of willow bark, elderberry, and yarrow, along with ginger and lemon. It made sense: the first three were good for fevers, while ginger would help with nausea and lemon would help with taste and his immune system. There was a jar of honey in a nearby cabinet, Arram knew. He'd had enough tea there, although Thom generally preferred the fashionable drink coffee.

When the tea was reheated, Arram poured it into the cup, and mixed in a tablespoon of honey. Carefully, he brought it back to Thom.

"Mithros bless you," Thom muttered when Arram returned, and tried to sit up. He cringed - in either pain or discomfort, Arram wasn't sure.

"Here," he said, placing the tea on the table to help rearrange the pillows behind Thom. When the other man was sitting, Arram handed him the teacup.

Thom took with it noticeably shaking hands, although not enough to spill the liquid.

It really made it clear how badly Thom was doing.

"Don't worry," Thom said after taking a sip. "I'm not contagious."

The thought hadn't even crossed Arram's mind, if he was honest. It seemed more than a severe flu, and everybody was acting like it was expected.

"Do you mind if I ask what's wrong?" Arram asked, because if Thom didn't want to share, he wouldn't push. It was obviously private if it had never been brought up before.

Thom sighed, putting his teacup back on the table for a moment. His features looked almost gaunt in the shadows of the room. Thom had already been skinny, it'd make sense that he'd lost more weight if he'd been too sick to eat the last five or so days.

"Before I came to Carthak," Thom began; Arram did the math - Thom had been at the university for almost two years. "I was quite ill for several months. The healers tried everything, but," he shrugged, looking again to the flickering candle. It was something he did when he spoke of things that made him uncomfortable - focused on something else. "Even some of the best healers in the land couldn't help me. The months dragged on and I became worse and worse. Eventually, I almost died."

Attam wasn't sure how to respond to that. Mother Goddess, how terrible that must have been.

Thom cleared his throat, and the tone of his voice lightened considerably. "I didn't, obviously, but it was a near thing. But an illness like that leaves a strain. I'm prone to migraines now, near constantly. Often I can work through them, but not always. There are days when they're so severe I can't bring myself to move from my bed. Fatigue and pain plague me too. Even simple things like walking from one edge of campus to the other exhausts me to the point of uselessness, and my body aches most of the time. My nerves burn like molten fire, and my joints feel like they're grinding together until I can hardly walk. I get fevers often, since my body is so weakened. They're not usually this bad, but most days I run a mild one." He shrugged. "I make do."

Arram was stricken. "Is that why you work from your rooms instead of an office?" He asked, because he could think of nothing else to say. It sounded like a miserable existence. He would hate to be stuck in bed for days at a time.

Thom finally looked back to him and nodded. "Yes. I spend most of my days working from here," he motioned to the room they were in, "although there are often times when I merely sit up in bed, or don't work at all."

"Is that why you left Tortall?" Thom, unlike most other mages at the university, so rarely spoke of his home. Everybody knew where he was from, of course; there were rumors that he was a noble, but Arram never felt the need to ask.

"It's... related," Thom said eventually, which Arram took to mean he didn't really want to talk about it.

He nodded, leaning back in the chair. "What can I do to help?"

"I'm sorry?" Thom asked, the same confusion lingering in his eyes as the first time Arram had asked that question.

"You're sick, Thom," Arram answered, "so, is there anything else I can do? I can open a window, or tidy up, or make you something simple to eat."

Thom waved his hand, a dismissive gesture. "No; no, I couldn't ask you to-"

"I'm  _ offering _ , Thom," Arram interrupted. "You're my _ friend _ ." He reached over, and put a tentative hand on Thom's leg. "I want to help, if I can."

Thom, to his credit, didn't immediately shoot him down like Arram half expected him to.

"I look disgusting," Thom said instead.

Arram almost felt bad for laughing. It was just such an absurd thing to say in the conversation. "You're sick, Thom. Besides, I don't mind." He squeezed his hand around Thom's ankle  \- h ad he heard better, Arram might have heard the way Thom's breath caught at the contact.

"Yes, well, if you're sure..." he trailed off.

"I am," Arram told him, his voice surprisingly steady for the way his heart pounded in his chest.

Thom cleared his throat. "I don’t - Just- Read to me?" It came out as a question, nervous and unsure.

Really, Arram shouldn't have been surprised. Thom loved books. There was hardly a time Arram could recall seeing him without a book in his hand.

"I'll need more light," he told him, "as long as you're okay with that.”

"Yes, that's fine." Even in the darkness Arram could make out a deep scarlet covering Thom's face, albeit barely.

Getting up, he walked over to the candlestick Thom usually worked under in the evenings. He lit the rest of the wicks using the one already glowing.

"What should I read?" he asked.

"Anything, I don't care." Thom said as he settled back into his pillows, occasionally sipping on his tea.

Arram grabbed a book from his bag. He had some mandatory reading for class anyway, so he figured he might as well do both. Opening the book, he started reading.

Sometime later, he glanced up. Thom's breathing had evened out, signaling he was asleep. It made Arram smile to see it as he put the book away. Stretching, he stood up. It wasn't quite late enough to retire for the night, but he didn't have any more school work.

Well. Thom probably wouldn't mind if he tidied up a bit, so long as he could still find everything.

Carefully, as he passed, Arram brushed a loose strand of red hair back behind Thom's ear. He was warm still, but with any luck the fever would break soon. Then he quietly began tidying the chaos that so often surrounded Thom.


End file.
